The Calling

by Jeffrey Hancock

  While I spoke my fine speech, I could hear some of the cast members hiding in the wings talk. They said things to each other like, “Is he nuts? Calling it down on himself. Who does he believe he is, Don Quixote? He’s going to anger it, and we’ll all pay.” One voice sang my praises, “At least he is trying. The rest of you are sheep cowering in fear of that thing.” Someone said, “I hope he doesn’t turn tail and run. We’re all dicked if he doesn’t finish the three months.”

  Let them scoff if they want, but they all waited outside. After my challenge to Mr. Shadowman, I walked to the dressing room I had been using. On the door was a large gold star with my name on it. A lump magically materialized in my throat. I did not expect it. I had thought, maybe a strip of, easily removed, masking tape with my name scrawled on it, but this is a professionally made ornament. When the show closes, I’ll have to snatch it.

  It was dark in the dressing room when I opened the door. I immediately went to red alert. Being ambushed by Mr. Shadowman is not how I want to go out. True, he has never physically attacked me, but it doesn’t mean he can’t. The light switch was useless. Slowly, I crossed to the make-up mirror. Flicking on the lights, all was as it should be. I pulled out my costume, and seeing it, I tried to freshen it up with a whisk broom. Don Quixote would not have food crumbs on his doublet. After my impromptu minor laundry duty, putting on my make-up was next on my to-do list. This feels so weird. It kept getting worse. By the time I was done, I appeared to be the Tragedy in a Greek play. It seems like the best course of action is to scrub my face and start over; however, I don’t believe my skill set improved over the first attempt.

  Someone knocked on the door. There came a rapping. As of someone gently tapping, tapping at my chamber door. I recited the Edgar Allan Poe in my mind. “Come in.” Looking in the mirror as I tried to fix my make-up, I saw Theresa sticking her head in my dressing room. “It’s okay. Come in all the way.”

  Theresa caught my eye through the mirror, smiled, then said, “Did you get mugged by Max Factor?”

  “Nice. I thought I was the snarky one.” I threw up my hands. “Can you fix this? I don’t want to be late for the shoot.”

  “Nathan, your face is beyond fixing.”

  “That’s what I have always thought, but my wife still loves me.”

  Theresa commanded, “Go wash all the make-up off. I need to work on a clean canvas.”

  The washroom was down the hall and off the green room. When I opened the door, the motion sensor light flicked on. I went to the sink and turned the hot water faucet on. It would take a couple of minutes for the temperature to climb above brr, so I waited. Testing the water every couple of moments for signs of warmth, I stood there looking in the mirror above the sink. The water was the right temp now, so I plugged the drain and waited for the sink to fill. Here goes, I soaped-up and started to scrub. Looking at the dirty water and the make-up staining the sink, I thought. It is not going to be fun to clean the sink. Splashing the water over my face for a final rinse, I heard the hum of the fluorescent light stop. Quickly, I reach for a towel to dry off and activate the motion lights again. It was still dark. Laughter in my mind echoed.

  Something grabbed me in the dark, the pain was intense. I felt a pulling inside me. I was being pulled from my body. I saw my body waver and crumple to the floor, hitting its head on the corner of the sink as it fell. The strange light with no shadows of the astral plane flooded the washroom. In the mirror, I saw Mr. Shadowman behind me. My God! No wonder Marlene fainted. This thing was hideous. A boiling mass of tentacles flailing about. Two tentacles had grabbed me. It spun me around to face it. A tentacle had eyes of various sizes instead of suckers. The other tentacles didn’t look right, either. What should have been suckers were all different kinds of mouths. Some mouths showed fangs dripping with saliva. Other mouths had beaks like birds of prey, each snapping, and clicking. Still, other mouths were twisted and misshapen orifices with teeth of various sizes and shapes. The rest were shaped like human mouths, all smiling, or whispering words I could not hear, or licking their lips. The horror of it must have shown on my face because all the mouths began laughing.

  I tried to pull free of this horror, but its grip was too strong. Two of its tentacles moved toward me in a slithering movement through the air. This creature was taking its time. It was toying with me. The tips of the tentacles touched my chest. A slow-burning sensation came to me. “What are you waiting for? Do it, you son-of-a-bitch!” I challenged. Fast as lighting, the tentacles plunged into me. Screaming in agony, I have never felt such pain. With parts of the creature inside of me, I could feel it feed. The mouths taking bites of me. It was consuming me from the inside. The pain! The pain!

  Lashing out as best I could, I was no match for this thing. Slowly, more of the creature’s arms started snaking toward me. One arm slithered toward my right arm and touched it with its burning tip. Another arm moved toward my left arm and touched me like the others. Next, two tentacles moved toward my legs. Each tentacle placed its burning tip upon one of my legs. Without warning, all the tentacles plunged into me. It was unbearable, yet I bore it. One tentacle looked to be aimed for my head. The tentacle’s tip touched the center of my forehead. The spot it touched started to burn. My body started quivering. I was so frightened. I began to uncontrollably sob. Not my mind! No! Dear God, No!

  The door behind the creature opened. “Nathan, I thought I heard you yell.” She sounded like she was underwater. The beautiful form of Theresa came through the door. “Oh, Nathan, are you okay?” I was instantly back in my body, and the only sign of Mr. Shadowman which remained, was a scream of frustration it left in my mind.

  As I became more aware, I realized my head hurt, but the pain was as insignificant compared to the burning holes I felt inside me. I felt a tender hand stroke my hair as I rested my head in a comfy lap. Slowly, I opened my eyes. Looking up at my savior, I saw Theresa smile down at me. I was in pain, but I became increasingly uncomfortable with how pleasing this felt. The gentle touch of a woman’s hand that was not my wife’s hand.

  I began to become angry. I’m not angry with Theresa. On the contrary, I am mad at my wife. Char has not held me like this in so long. If I didn’t have a perfect memory, I would have forgotten how it felt long ago.

  Reaching up, I gently took Theresa’s hand and stopped it in its gentle caresses. “Please, stop.”

  Whispering, “Doesn’t it feel good?” Theresa asked as she kept hold of my hand.

  “Yes, it does, and that is why you have to stop.” Slowly, I lifted my head and started to stand.

  “Nathan, I heard your words, but there is something about you that says to me you may be open to us. I don’t know what it is. You have an aura about you. Being a student of movement, I’ve watched the way you walk. You don’t walk like a man who is humbly married to his wife. You have an understated swagger like you are on the prowl. It attracts women. You have been gossiped about on more than one occasion by the straight female cast members.”

  “Now, you are trying to stroke my ego. It has been years since I attracted the type of attention you’re talking about.” Memories came flooding over me. Painful memories that are best left to unstimulated synapses. Changing the subject, I asked, “What did you see when you came in here?”

  “You, on the ground. Did you slip on something?” Theresa inquired.

  “I must have.” I can’t let it become common knowledge that Mr. Shadowman kicked my ass. It would panic the cast. It could have attacked anyone by now, but it didn’t. It attacked me! Why?

  “You should go to the Emergency Room. I think you hit your head.” Theresa asserted.

  “What makes you think I hit my head?”

  Theresa turned me around to face the mirror, “That!” pointing to the walnut-sized lump on my noggin.

  I touched my owie. “Son-of-a …” I bit off what I was going to say. “Wow, it smarts. You know that phrase is an oxymoron. I’ve heard people say they were going to knock some se
nse into me or make me smart, but if you hit someone hard enough, I would think they would get anything but smarter. What are your thoughts?”

  “You are fine, or you’re way past the time when going to the ER would do any good.”

  “Enough banter. Come do my make-up while I hold some ice to my melon. Say, should I name my bump Mini-me?”

  Theresa aptly applied my make-up. She even managed to conceal my bump and bruise with some concealer. Imagine that. Revlon would be proud. The photoshoot was still some time away. The photographer was running late, so I was able to get in forty-winks.

  “Theresa, I know this is a strange request, but while I nap, would you watch over me and make sure all the lights stay on?” She nodded her head and didn’t say a word. I laid down on the cot and slept. I slept like the dead, which I think I would have been if Theresa had not interrupted Mr. Shadowman.

  The photoshoot went well. The photographer said he would photoshop out any hints of the lump. Ah, the marvels of the digital age. The photoshoot was all we had today. Matt told me about an interview on a television morning show. He had scheduled me to a few radio show interviews also. All of this was to drum-up more ticket sales. Last but not least, Matt handed me a stack of phone messages. Matt was not wrong about talent agents inquiring about my representation. I don’t know what they could be after. I had already a signed contract.

  The day’s activities were completed. Everything took far more time than I thought. Lunch at home was my goal earlier, but now, I’ll be lucky to be home for dinner on time. The drive home was quiet. There was no car radio playing and no music from my internal radio station, K R A P. Quiet contemplation was mine on the drive home. Mr. Shadowman came within a hair’s breadth of killing me and in a horrible way to boot. I feel hallow like something of me is gone. There is a dull pain in my arms, chest, and legs. My head hurt, too, but not from examining the sink close-up. The place where Mr. Shadowman put a tentacle on my forehead is still burning. A phone call to Lizzy seems to be in order. I have several thousand questions that need answering.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The instant I walked through my front door, Charlene commanded, “Nathan, we’re going!”

  “Going where? My love.”

  “To war!” Char said as she grabbed her purse and pulled out her keys. She started marching toward me and the front door. Arriving, Char gently pushed me aside and took the lead.

  “Cool. Let me get my sword and gun.”

  “Not that kind of war, but the thought has its merits,” Charlene replied as we headed for the car.

  Stopping in my tracks, I asked, “Wait a minute. Who’s watching Mo?”

  “My mother is watching her until my dad gets there,” Char said without breaking her stride.

  “Is having a ghost watch Mo safe? Don’t misunderstand me, I trust and love your mother, but if something happens, she can’t do anything.”

  “You know, Nathan, sometimes you worry too much. My dad is already on his way here, besides my mom can get a hold of you faster than my dad can dial for help.”

  I thought on it for a moment, and said, “You have a point.” I tried to take my seat as Char entered on the driver’s side and started the car.

  The moment I closed my door, Char said, “Buckle up. We have to hurry. The bastards have already started.”

  “Such language coming from the mouth of a lady.”

  “As my father would say, “It was the right word, so I used it.” Besides the last thing I am right now, Nathan, is a lady!” Char hit the accelerator and the car peeled away, leaving only the smoke in the air and rubber on the road.

  Sitting back and holding on for dear life, I endured Charlene’s version of the San Diego Grand Prix. While Char continued weaving in and out of traffic, I inquired, “I know we are going to war, but where is the battle?”

  “At 4100 Normal Street. The San Diego Unified School District Board holds their meetings there,” Char stated each word as if they were a personal affront to her. “Don’t ask me anything else. I will start driving angry if you do.”

  “And the way you’re driving isn’t?”

  “Not by half.”

  “Damn, woman. Remind me not to ever piss you off while you’re driving.”

  “Too late. You’ve already did it some years ago.” Char blared the horn as she narrowly missed a car with a “Student Driver” placard on it. I quickly recalled, to my relief, I had paid our insurance this month.

  “Char, I am right there with you on the firing line. I got your back. I will stand there with you to the end, but you’ll do no good if we don’t get there alive.”

  Charlene let out a huge breath, “You’re right,” the car began to slow down to sub-light speeds.

  I loosened my white-knuckle grip on the oh Jesus handle above the passenger side window, and said, “Of course, I’m right. I’m the man.” Charlene took her right hand off the steering wheel long enough to flip me off. “Thank you for keeping the other hand on the wheel.” She flipped me off again. I laughed, and she did too. We arrived at the battlefield.

  Char turned the key and jumped out of the car as the engine finished sputtering. I ran to catch up with Charlene. In the parking lot, there was a news van, and it was all set up with a few men milling about. She marched right through the door with me close behind. The meeting room was filled to standing-room-only capacity. A television camera crew stood in the back taping the whole meeting. The five-member School Board was listening to an angry parent railing against them and the Principal of Moiraine’s school, Ms. Canon.

  The angry parent screamed at the board. “I don’t care about the reasons. We have the absolute right to know if our children are in danger! It is we parents who decide the best course of action not you,” the irate father at the podium exclaimed. Looking straight at Ms. Canon, the speaker accused her, “We trusted you with our children, and you betrayed that trust. How could we ever trust you again?” This gentleman waited for her answer. After a moment, the speaker continued, “We can’t.” A murmur of general agreement came from the crowd with some rowdy cheers thrown in for good measure. “I demand this board ask for her resignation! If this board fails its charge, we will remember come election time. Which is only a few weeks away I will remind you.” The speaker made eye contact with each board member, in turn, saying, “Do your job, enforce the will of the people.” The crowd began to cheer anew and generally get ugly.

  The Chairman of the board began pounding his gavel and said, “The room will quiet down, or I will have it cleared.” After a few more harangues from the crowd, they began settling down. The next parent went up to the podium to address the board. Char made her play. Before the parent began, Charlene whispered in the mother’s ear. With a look of surprise, the mother yielded the podium and mic to my wife.

  Char gave a little nod of acknowledgment to Ms. Canon and the rest of the board. Char tried to turn the podium around but gave up soon. I caught her eye and started to move, but Char waved me off. She pulled the microphone from the stand and turned to face the mob. Charlene stayed quiet until everyone settled down. “Some of you know me. Some of you don’t. I am Mrs. Charlene Louise Embers, and I work at Greentree Elementary. I am the art docent there.” The crowd murmured a bit but quieted right down. “I am the one who took the bullet.” She stared down the crowd then continued once it had sunk in. “How dare you call for this woman’s resignation. When I heard of this emergency meeting, I rushed over here to defend Ms. Canon and admonish all of you. What did you expect her to do? The police told her not to tell you.”

  Then one father in the crowd stood up and yelled, “She had a greater duty to the safety of our children than to follow the police instructions!” Cheers of agreement came from the crowd. The Chairman banged his gavel some more, and the angry parents settled again.

  “Do you even comprehend the danger? Well, Ms. Canon did. My husband did. The police did. Listen to the letter left at the school. Nathan, would you recite the letter p
lease.”

  Charlene handed me the microphone.

  “This is exactly what the letter said.” As I recited the letter, I tried to read it calmly and without emotion. My failure filled the hall. My anger seeped into the words. Rancor splattered across the walls. “To the staff and parents of Greentree Elementary School. So long as Nathan Embers works in or around your school, no child is safe. If I see him there on the grounds or anywhere within a two-block radius of the school, a child dies the next day in front of their friends. The second time I see him there on the grounds or anywhere within a two-block radius, two children will die the next day in front of their friends. I think you can figure out the math of this word problem. If you close the school or alter the children’s schedule in any way, I will strike them down in their homes. The streets will run red with the blood of the innocents if I am not obeyed. To show my noble intentions, no child will die this week, but if you don’t take this warning seriously, the children will pay. Please inform Mr. Nathan Embers he is not to run or hide from me. The day of his reckoning is coming. The manner of his death is yet to be determined. Please tell him the police can’t help him. If he goes to the police for help or protection, it will only get good cops killed. Tell him when the time comes, he must face me like a man and not like a coward. To prove to you this letter is in fact from me and not some hoax, I have placed my thumbprint at the bottom of the page. Yours Truly, Mark Galos. Have a nice day.”

  As I recited the letter, I thought I felt a stirring in my mind. Is Da’von laughing? Can he tap in somehow to what’s going on around me? The thought frightened me. As I contemplated this, the rabble grew so quiet, I could hear a mouse fart.

  “Thank you, Nathan. The creature who wrote this letter is the man who shot me.” Charlene’s hand subconsciously went to her chest as her eyes became glazed over. After a moment, she shook her head and regained focus. There were murmurs all around. I guess some people didn’t make the connection at first. “The note is scary enough but let me tell you something about the monster. He had come to the crossing to murder my husband, but when he heard my daughter call out to her father, he jumped on the idea of torturing Nathan first by murdering Moiraine. This monster turned and fired at Moiraine and me. The bullet missed Moiraine and hit me, thank God!” Charlene flinched as she emphasized, “hit me.” My heart quickened as she told her rendition of the events. I didn’t know she recalled so much of the incident. Where my words were heated, Charlene’s were cold and measured.